


A Fine Line (Will Set You Apart)

by context_please



Series: Slice of Paradise [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Atlantis Culture, Basically what I imagine happens on Atlantis day to day, Fluff and Angst, Lots of character interaction moments, Slice of Life, a LOT of paperwork, a little bit of mystery i think, or at least how i imagine it would be, original characters are just there to fill out the population really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-19 12:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/context_please/pseuds/context_please
Summary: Something is up with Lorne, and Sheppard is determined to find out what.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this one's a big beast. It's actually my first long fic ever, and despite its age, I'm still ridiculously proud of it. It might be a bit boring for y'all cause there's not much action, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head after reading that the creators wanted to explore Lorne so much more and didn't get the chance. Also I always had ideas about what it would be like on Atlantis in an everyday setting, so I just did it. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

It was late on what Sheppard thought may have been a Tuesday night, and he’d stopped bothering to pretend he was doing paper work over an hour ago. Instead, Sheppard was completing some of the equations for the newest experiment in the physics lab, attempting to work out the pure math behind recharging a ZPM. He and Rodney had only started the other week, not even sure that it was possible to recharge such a complicated device, which was even harder once they considered the fact that said device drew power from an artificial region of subspace-time. What John was calculating was if, after maximum entropy, they would be able to either trigger the regeneration of the depleted region of subspace-time, or whether they would have to ‘create’ a new one, so to speak.

The work was hard going, so John had only finished about five pages of math by the time he checked the clock and found that an hour had passed. Glancing up, John pushed the paperwork aside and studied Lorne.

Mirroring John, the Major had his feet resting up on John’s desk, bracing against a clipboard as he filled out endless amounts of paperwork. Contrary to popular opinion, whilst Sheppard did despise paperwork, he had never actually foisted any onto Lorne. His 2IC had enough to worry about without doing John’s administrative crap. It was just hilarious to see Rodney’s eyes bug out of his head with jealousy when he claimed he’d trained Lorne to do his work. Plus, Lorne didn’t seem to have a problem with it – he usually just glanced over at Sheppard with this tiny little smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what the Colonel was doing. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised. Lorne was a hell of a lot smarter than he let on, but John could understand the desire to keep it a secret.

John could see the tension in Lorne’s shoulders, even as he slouched against the chair and John’s desk. It was a little disappointing to see Lorne trying to put an act on for him, but John really couldn’t judge. He’d never trusted his own superior officers, and it seemed somewhat hypocritical of him to be disappointed that Lorne wasn’t willing to trust him on a personal level, let alone by getting rid of his masks.

‘Lorne,’ he said, drawing the man’s attention up from the papers. There were heavy bags under his eyes; his forehead seemed tight – whether from the frown that was perpetually stuck there, of late, or what looked to be a painful headache, obvious in the way he was rubbing his temples – and he looked so exhausted that John held his hands out, gesturing to the huge stack of papers still lying on the ground next to the man’s chair. ‘Pass me a stack,’ he said, ‘the quicker this gets done, the sooner we can sleep.’

Lorne looked like he might have protested, but John didn’t miss the brief flash of relief in his eyes. Without saying a word, he split the stack in half and put it on the desk.

John picked up the first paper to see that the entire stack comprised of requisition forms for the upcoming _Daedalus_ supply run. He cringed in horror, reading the request for _porn magazines_ and instantly disapproving it. While John wouldn’t have minded some pleasant entertainment, he had the feeling that the majority of Atlantis’ scientists would appreciate the extra room for coffee over porn. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he was sure they wouldn’t have minded those either. Even though it was their fourth year on Atlantis, they still desperately needed supplies over porn. Until Atlantis was in glorious, fully functional, working order, they couldn’t spare room for these things.

In all, it didn’t take long to get at least half way through the stack – most requests were for coffee (ranking number one); chocolate (number two); science journals (number three, although John knew that they probably weren’t necessary, because the scientists here were doing _pioneering_ work); and, coming in at a surprisingly low fourth, scientific equipment. Being a part of Atlantis’ senior command made his job easy – John knew that coffee and chocolate were already loaded onto the _Daedalus_ (along with plenty of Jell-o cups, courtesy of General O’Neill), so all he had to do was approve the equipment requisition forms from the science department.

Putting down the final form – an approved request for more morphine, which John could totally get on board with, that stuff rocked – he glanced up at Lorne again.

There were still a heap of forms to complete, but Lorne had been looking at the one currently on his clipboard for about five minutes, prompting John to pull the remainder over to him, carefully stacking them by his computer. ‘Alright, Lorne,’ he said, snapping the man out of his daze. ‘Let’s go, I’ll finish these in the morning.’

‘Sir –‘

‘Do I need to make that an order, Lorne?’

The man looked like he wanted to protest – vehemently – but deflated at the last second. He shook his head, stretching out his legs and standing, scrubbing a hand across his face. John grabbed his math proofs – McKay would be very happy to see these in the morning – and followed him out, the door sliding shut and lights dying behind them.

The halls of Atlantis were quiet, most of the personnel in their beds, and the rest thoroughly sequestered in the labs. John nodded to the night guard as they made their way down the halls to the living quarters. Lorne’s quarters were a few doors down from his, with most of the more senior military members residing in another tower completely. Teyla’s and Ronon’s quarters were in between them, dictated by the two of them deciding to sleep close to him in case of emergency. When he’d asked, it had turned out that Lorne chose his quarters because of the view; incidentally, the same reason as John, with the relative seclusion being a bonus they both liked.

‘You know,’ John started slowly, ‘you should take some time off every now and then.’

‘Sir?’ Lorne asked, a strange expression on his face.

‘I’m still me, Lorne. You look like hell, though, just so you know.’

He really did. And judging from the way his 2IC hung his head a little and glanced sideways, he knew exactly that.

‘I’m just saying, this requisition stuff can be split in two. I’ll get the geeks to sort it into piles and I’ll take those.’

Lorne just gave him another look. ‘Thanks, sir? Honestly, I…’

‘Look, Lorne,’ John said, bordering on frustrated, but trying to alleviate said frustration by making restrained gestures. ‘I’m just saying, have some free time, spend a night with your team, meet someone, nap. Seriously, just relax and take some time for yourself every once in a while. I’m not going to court-martial you.’

They reached Lorne’s door, and the man stopped, looking a little stunned. ‘Thank you, sir. I… I’ll keep that in mind.’

John placed a hand on his shoulder, showing he was serious. ‘Lorne, you can trust me, you know.’

Lorne stepped aside, the door sliding open, offering a tired smile. ‘I appreciate it.’

It was in that moment that John gained the first inklings of true trust, because Lorne never did a single thing without the militarily-trained propriety.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grumbling to himself about what seemed to be the lack of coffee in the lab, Rodney made his way to his chair, dumping himself into it and pulling papers towards himself blindly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a little bit of lab fun times!
> 
> this chapter references a previous fic of mine titled The Mystery of the Magical Math Pixie. You don't have to read it to understand the chapter but you're welcome to! I've put the whole lot into a series if you'd like to read all of the bits and pieces from the same universe.

John was already sitting on his lab table, Johnny Cash playing lightly in the background, when McKay trudged in, hair still mussed from sleep and putting his left arm in the right sleeve of his jacket.

Not even bothering to suppress his laugh, John smirked at his friend. ‘Rodney, that jacket isn’t going to manipulate physics to fit you. It’s the other sleeve.’

‘Oh, right,’ Rodney mumbled quietly, finally threading his arms through the correct holes. It said a lot about his current state of mind that he didn’t even complain, or launch into a lecture about clothing and its inadequacies.

Grumbling to himself about what seemed to be the lack of coffee in the lab, Rodney made his way to his chair, dumping himself into it and pulling papers towards himself blindly.

John eyed the page in his lap, the sixth one of the math proof now, and decided he’d leave McKay in peace for a while so that John could finish at least ten pages of the proof.

The soft notes of Johnny Cash accompanied his journey into pure mathematics, providing a soft background as he lost himself in numbers. When John did math, he had to think, yes, but the numbers seemed to float effortlessly into his head, like smooth holograms before his eyes, translating onto the page and providing enough thinking material so that he didn’t get distracted, but leaving the rest of his mind blank. John loved working in the labs in the morning because it was certainly a relaxing way to wake up.

Zelenka drifted in at some point, snapping John’s attention away from his equations. The little Czech was finishing off what looked like an apple – that is, if it hadn’t been an odd purple colour with the occasional red and green patches around it, varying from little pin-prick dots to small grazes.

‘ _Dobrý den_ ,’ he greeted around a mouthful of pseudo-apple.

John opened his mouth to speak, but Rodney simply ploughed over him. ‘I thought I told you not to bring food into the lab! You’ll leave it somewhere and it’ll explode because it’s from the Pegasus Galaxy and that‘s what stuff from the Pegasus Galaxy does. Don’t you remember what happened when that idiot down in botany tried to grow the funny-looking –‘

‘Breathe, Rodney, breathe,’ John reminded him.

Zelenka took advantage of the silence to shove the whole fruit into his mouth; practically swallowing it whole; John did _not_ want to know how he could do that.

‘See?’ he declared, ‘no more problem.’

Rodney’s mouth was flapping, even with no sound emitting from his vocal chords, so John took the opportunity to speak. Had to be quick when it came to Rodney.

‘Been meaning to ask: can we get the science department to put their requisition forms somewhere separate?’

Rodney recovered, a frown creasing his face. ‘What does it matter?’

John shrugged, non-committal. ‘Lorne usually handles them, but he can barely even stand up lately and I don’t have that much paperwork anymore. Plus, I actually know what the hell you guys are requesting when it comes to scientific equipment.’

‘Sure, just don’t bother me,’ Rodney assented, turning back to his work, even as Radek asked over him, ‘Is the Major okay?’

‘I think so,’ John frowned. ‘His team’s been out a lot lately, he probably just needs a break.’

Zelenka just nodded and went to his desk.

Reaching underneath his own, Sheppard drew out an empty box with _REQUISITION FORMS_ pre-written on it, hopped off of his table and dropped it next to the _Pixie_ box. He picked up the three sheets in the _Pixie_ pile and took them back with him.

‘Can you send the department an email, McKay?’ he asked, already starting on the math proofs for what looked like Miko. He could probably recognize her neat, clean handwriting anywhere by that point.

Rodney groaned theatrically, but started an email – he knew that Sheppard would have nagged him about it again later on, as he had done many times. John was kind of proud of himself for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter upload today cause this one's so short.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This message has come to you from the brilliant and unfettered mind of Doctor Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter, but honestly I loved writing it.

 After lunch in the mess hall, where he sat with Teyla and Major Connors (who had become a surprising friend to his team), John sat down at his desk and opened his email to discover he had **1 NEW MESSAGE**. He opened it, happy to see McKay had actually pressed the **SEND** button.

 

 

From: Rodney McKay, CSO

To: Atlantis Science Department

CC: John Sheppard, CMO; Samantha Carter, ABL

Subject: ADMINISTRATION

 

Minions of Atlantis,

Due to various complaints (of which I am _sick and tired of hearing_ ), there is now a place that you can submit all of your EQUIPMENT REQUISITION FORMS. Yes, you have eyes; the capital letters are there for a reason. Only requests for equipment will be even REMOTELY CONSIDERED.

There is now a box in our lab dedicated to these forms: this is located next to the _Pixie_ box. If you have no idea where our lab is, or what the _Pixie_ box is, what rock have you been living under for the past year? I don’t need your ignorance: get out.

I will repeat this again for those who still can’t read: only put your EQUIPMENT REQUISITION FORMS in the box that has that same label.

(If you even _think_ about trying to request anything other than for the benefit of science, please remember that Atlantis’ power, plumbing and heating are under _my_ control. You have been warned.)

Yes, monkeys, this means that you DO NOT place the forms in Colonel Sheppard’s office – just don’t do it anymore. ALL EQUIPMENT REQUISITION FORMS GO TO OUR LAB.

If you still don’t understand, why are you even in Atlantis? Leave.

This message has come to you from the brilliant and unfettered mind of Doctor Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD.

 

 

 John huffed out a laugh as he read the message; still, after a whole year, inordinately proud that it was _their_ lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Afternoon, sir,’ he greeted, and the slightly diminished bags under his eyes suggested that he may have actually slept last night. 
> 
> ‘Major,’ Sheppard replied. ‘You ready for this?’
> 
> Lorne set down the stack of paper in his hands and plucked his laptop from the top of the pile. The stack was significantly smaller, and John was glad that it looked like they’d be finished by 1700. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said, wild grin firmly in place.

It was 1500 when John looked up to see Lorne sidling in through the doorway.

‘Afternoon, sir,’ he greeted, and the slightly diminished bags under his eyes suggested that he may have actually _slept_ last night.

‘Major,’ Sheppard replied. ‘You ready for this?’

Lorne set down the stack of paper in his hands and plucked his laptop from the top of the pile. The stack was significantly smaller, and John was glad that it looked like they’d be finished by 1700. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said, wild grin firmly in place.

They both kicked their feet up onto the desk, getting comfortable.

John couldn’t really remember when it had happened, but at some point, paperwork with Lorne had become a ritual thing, as opposed to the habitual way it was carried out by most other commanding officers. At around about 1500 on most weekdays – barring when they had missions, of course – Lorne would take the guest chair, kick his feet up in a mirror of John’s, and they would attempt to do read mission reports while trying not to die of laughter. Giant killer plants seemed to be a thing in the Pegasus Galaxy, and they made for surprisingly good reading. But it was fun. For Sheppard and Lorne, it was often the only thing in their boring day that kept their brains active (although now Sheppard did spend the mornings in the shared lab, and that was never boring). Their paperwork sessions always began the same way: with a Challenge Accepted remark from Lorne.

(Sheppard remembered the first time Lorne had come to his office to use his desk. He’d jokingly asked his new 2IC ‘think you can handle the pressure, Major?’ To which Lorne had instantly replied ‘Challenge accepted, sir.’ Sheppard thought that maybe that had been the first time Lorne relaxed around him.)

Lorne automatically handed John half of the paper stack, all of which were mission reports. They were officially required to do equal workload when it came to mission reports, so it was easier to do it at the same time. Reports were always dropped in Lorne’s little hole-in-the-wall office, as John was rarely even in his and incredibly hard to track down. Being Atlantis’ favourite son did have its advantages.

The other reason they read reports together was the bi-monthly Tally.

After reading enough mission reports that were horrific, horrifically hilarious, and some that were seemingly pure comedy, John had suggested the Tally. The Tally chart was stuck on the wall next to his desk, and it consisted of a listing of all Off-world ‘Gate Teams in ranking order. John’s was first (official designation being First Atlantis Reconnaissance Team, AR-1); Stackhouse’s second (Second Atlantis Reconnaissance Team, AR-2); Lorne’s third (AR-3); and down from there until it reached the final team: AR-8. Each team’s two missions per week were divided into three categories: _Oh Shit, Hilarity_ , and _Wait, What?_. Whoever John and Lorne deemed worthy from each team’s reports would then respectively receive a mark in that category. At the end of two months, the Tally was counted and prizes given out. So far, John’s team had won the Oh Shit award the most times consecutively, for which McKay was only glad because their prize was sympathy chocolate and a whole week off. Lorne and Stackhouse were fighting pretty hard over the Hilarity award, sometimes further entrenching themselves in hilariously bad situations to prove their merit, but it was probably because the Hilarity prize was unlimited use of the movie room for two weeks, power to veto any others attempting to use it, and with bonus popcorn. With Doctor Parrish, the resident botanist geek, Lorne was starting to pull ahead of Stackhouse, managing to gain two consecutive Tally awards based on the fact that their team encountered a lot of killer plants. Even Lorne had to admit it was pretty hilarious.

Elizabeth had loved the idea when they’d first pitched it to her (that was, after they’d been keeping an unofficial tally for weeks just for fun) and immediately suggested prizes. Morale had been pretty low at the time, even though the _Daedalus_ was finally up and running. The Tally had excited the ‘Gate Teams, helped them to engage in missions, and sometimes provided a little healthy competition based on the fact that they all got into trouble without assistance anyway.

When Elizabeth had gone missing, Colonel Carter – who had actually heard about the Tally after being told by some airmen from the _Daedalus_ – had laughed, said she wished the SGC had one of those (well, an official one anyway – apparently betting pools didn’t count), and occasionally weighed in on their decisions. He liked when Carter came to help; it was fun to connect in a non-business manner with his CO and Atlantis’ leader. Plus, he liked Carter. She was more than happy to keep the system, even suggesting some better prizes to include for award winners. Those who won the Wait, What? award had her to thank for their reassignment to easy missions. The reason they had won the award in the first place was because the entire situation had been confusing, or had a strange outcome that made John and Lorne pause. The Wait, What? award was fair game for any team to win, with the winners bouncing all around the board. It was refreshing.

Once they’d finished their parts of the reports, Sheppard looked up at his 2IC. ‘Edison’s got the Wait award in the bag,’ he declared. ‘They went to a Wraith-infested world undercover and found out that the entire thing was an optical illusion hiding a civilization of women. No men, just women.’

Lorne’s eyebrows rose incredulously. ‘I’ve got nothing,’ he admitted. ‘Only women?’

‘Yep. And the women insisted they were Wraith, but gave them fruit baskets anyway. Edison says the fruit was delicious.’

‘That’s definitely going to Lieutenant Edison.’

John knew Major Lorne was taking on too much work – the least John could do was help him spend a relaxing afternoon laughing at antics and updating the Tally. And if he inwardly winced when Lorne jokingly remarked about the persistent aches in his legs from running away from the latest overprotective bee, well. Lorne didn’t need to know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sad how much research I did into which teams were still active during this time period... oh well!
> 
> I'll see you tomorrow for a new chapter. Or not, if you hated it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Sir!’ a voice called, and he turned to see Lorne and Connors gesturing to him, smiles on their faces. Connors pushed the spare chair out with his foot.
> 
> John took the hint and dropped himself down into it, barely managing to keep from spilling the contents of his tray all over the table. ‘Majors,’ he said, smirking at them as he grabbed the Pegasus equivalent of a piece of bread and started buttering. They had that, at least, but only the kind that could be easily re-solidified. He grimaced at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a support character here!

When John finally took a break from writing his latest mission report – which, so far, had made it to about fifteen pages worth of pure writing (the last mission had been an overnight stay that had ended in a less-than-friendly encounter with Wraith-worshippers, who seemed to be popping up out of the woodwork since the incident with Ronon’s old Satedan friends) – he went to the mess hall.

It was 1430, a little late for lunch, but a little early for afternoon snacks, so John settled on a haphazard combination of the remains of lunch and the beginnings of the snacks. Most of it was fruit, but he didn’t really mind. That blue and white melon-thing was actually delicious. He took two of them – they were small for a melon, but bigger than the average orange, so one probably wouldn’t be enough anyway.

Tray precariously stacked with a strange mix of Earth and Pegasus food, John glanced around the mess hall, looking for an empty table by the windows. Instead, his eyes alighted on Lorne and Connors, the Australian Major who had joined the expedition under the Gate Alliance Treaty and become a friend to his team ever since his first week as a part of the expedition. The two of them were sitting on the same side of the table, close together so they could talk quietly. John thought they’d probably had lunch with someone else and hadn’t been bothered to move to the other side afterwards, but it also may have been the fact that they wanted privacy while they had what looked like a very intense discussion.

Spotting a free table just across from theirs, John made his way over, balancing his tray expertly.

‘Sir!’ a voice called, and he turned to see Lorne and Connors gesturing to him, smiles on their faces. Connors pushed the spare chair out with his foot.

John took the hint and dropped himself down into it, barely managing to keep from spilling the contents of his tray all over the table. ‘Majors,’ he said, smirking at them as he grabbed the Pegasus equivalent of a piece of bread and started buttering. They had that, at least, but only the kind that could be easily re-solidified. He grimaced at the thought.

‘What’s going on with you, John?’ Connors asked, immediately taking the permission granted. The thing about Connors was that he wasn’t uncomfortable with informality – John supposed that was another thing to love about Australians (that, and the surfing abilities, of course). Connors’ hair hadn’t lost the sun-bleached blondeness he’d arrived with, but that was probably because he volunteered for the missions that no one else would take: desert missions. He’d always worked in sunny environments, or so he’d told John, and it never really bothered him. He’d said, ‘There’s something special about feeling the sun tingle on your skin… it reminds me that I’m _alive_.’ Connors had said it in such a passionate, genuine way that John couldn’t fault him.

‘Nothing much,’ John answered after swallowing a mouthful of pseudo-bread. ‘I’m trying to write up yesterday’s mission report, but I think my fingers are ready to throw in the towel.’

‘How many pages?’

‘Fifteen. And I’m not even to the part with all the explosions yet.’

Connors grimaced. ‘Ouch. I do not envy you, sir. Paperwork is the worst.’

‘On the plus side,’ John cheerfully added, ‘We’ve totally got the Oh Shit award in the bag this week.’

Lorne smirked at him, a habit he probably picked up from John himself. ‘Always, sir,’ he agreed, the _sir_ actually sounding like more of a gentle insult than a term of respect. John approved.

‘Wait a minute there, John, I think I’ve beaten you this time!’ Connors’ accent almost seemed to make the sentence sound even more triumphant.

Connors proceeded to tell John and Lorne about the latest screw-up AR-9 had stumbled into, which had actually involved large killer spiders, an abandoned village, and what Connors described as ‘ _Resident Evil_ ’ level filth.

When Connors seemed to be at the end of his story – which had been vaguely humorous, but more horrifying, and AR-8 might really be giving Sheppard’s team a run for their money this time – John glanced over to Lorne. He was relaxing back into his chair, slouching over slightly more than usual, and laughing at the antics of Connors’ frankly crazy team. But what seemed to be relaxation was actually something else – Lorne was leaning a little too far back in his chair, shoulders slumped a little too far forward, limbs slow and clumsy in movement, and bags under his eyes large enough to embark upon an intergalactic trip. He must have been up late last night, which made sense. They had both been awake – the _Daedalus_ was supposed to be taking off today, which meant that last night had been their final chance to get any supplies onto the ship. The night before take-off was always frantic.

Still, with how badly Lorne had been doing lately, he couldn’t afford last night’s lateness. It was already showing, and it was only 1445.

Connors’ story was drawing to a close, and a spectacular one at that. ‘Then I said, “Let ‘er rip!” And pushed the button, and it was like my own personal fireworks display. Colonel Carter won’t be happy, but we’re totally going to win the Oh Shit award.’

John seized the opportunity – working with Rodney had taught him quick-draw rapier wit, and he had tons of practice. ‘Speaking of,’ he began, ‘Lorne, you look like shit warmed up. Did you even sleep last night?’

Lorne choked on the mouthful of water he’d been about to swallow. Connors slapped him on the back, but the frown he wore wasn’t for Lorne’s small bouts of coughing. He was looking at John, eyes practically screaming, _really, he hasn’t been sleeping_? John merely raised an eyebrow at him and watched the Australian’s eyes refocus on his friend.

Lorne, once he recovered from nearly choking, glared over the table at John. His expression contained too much petulance to convince John that he was completely awake, let alone fully functional.

John sighed, ‘Lorne, look, I know this week’s been busy, but you can’t keep running yourself into the ground like this. You got maybe one, two hours sleep last night?’ The Major opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off. ‘If you lie to me, Lorne, I swear I’ll tell McKay to cut off your hot water.’

It was a real threat, and from the look of horror on Lorne’s face, he knew it was deadly serious too. ‘Two hours, I think, sir,’ he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face as he did so.

‘Jesus, Evan,’ Connors hissed, and John let his lungful of lecturing-air deflate.

‘You can’t function on two hours sleep,’ Connors continued, already into fully-fledged doctor mode, something John thought he might have picked up from Carson a while ago. He may have been a field medic before Atlantis, but he was a semi-permanent medical team member these days. ‘Can you even see straight?’ he slammed a fist down onto the table. ‘Dammit! We all know how busy you’ve been, but that’s no excuse. We don’t all expect you to become Superman, okay? Both of you,’ he accused, glaring at John.

Sheppard took the offered torch. ‘Lorne, I’ve already offered my help. Don’t make me offer again.’ His tone was hard and demanding, and he could see Connors nodding seriously from the corner of his eye. John’s intense gaze rested on Lorne for a few more moments, then he sighed heavily and stood up.

‘Take the rest of the day off,’ John ordered. ‘And get some sleep.’

‘Doctor’s orders,’ Connors added, expression set, ‘non-negotiable.’

Lorne’s head whipped back and forth between between the two of them, but he yielded quickly. ‘Yes, sir,’ he agreed quietly, sounding more exhausted already.

‘Good.’ John nodded farewell to the both of them, taking his tray over to the dirty pile.

‘Kael, want to watch a movie in my quarters?’ Lorne asked Connors quietly. ‘You can choose. I think I’ll fall asleep in the middle of it anyway.’

‘Sure,’ Connors replied, equally soft.

John left the mess just as their chairs pushed back, and grinned a little to himself. Maybe presenting a united front was the way to go. He was just glad that Lorne was finally going to get some damned sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Connors Australian because I'm a little sick of having pretty much no Australian characters in the media (look, Aussie shows don't count, they aren't that great). He'll be showing up every now and then so I hope you like him. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, catch ya for the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John hauled himself out of the chair, joints popping as he did so. He’d been doing paperwork for way too long. In fact, it was almost depressing. He switched off the lamp on his desk, hightailed it out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him. John was about to beat a hasty retreat when a yellow light in the corner of his vision stopped him short. 
> 
> For some reason, John was unsurprised when he discovered it was Lorne’s office light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's got a guitar for a reason, right?
> 
> Sorry for the tardiness today, I had a busy day yesterday and didn't get time to edit. Have a double chapter today!

00:07

 

The clock glared steadily at John as he finally leaned back, stretching his spine with a series of loud pops. He rubbed a hand over his face, probably messing up his already unruly hair even further, but he didn’t really care much.

He glanced over to the clock again, taking in the digital numbers that lit the side of his desk red. Shuffling the paperwork away, he groaned a little, practically melting against his chair. He glanced outside the window to his left, the pitch black of Atlantis’ sea engulfing the entirety of the view, blurring with the sky to afford a simply _wonderful_ scenery of black. Occasionally the waves would refract tiny slivers of moonlight, reassuring him that the ocean was actually out there.

John hauled himself out of the chair, joints popping as he did so. He’d been doing paperwork for _way too long_. In fact, it was almost depressing. He switched off the lamp on his desk, hightailed it out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him. John was about to beat a hasty retreat when a yellow light in the corner of his vision stopped him short.

For some reason, John was unsurprised when he discovered it was Lorne’s office light.

Shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and exasperation, John ordered the door to open for him and leant in the entranceway.

Like him, Lorne had his desk lamp on, trying not to be too bright, but failing at the same time. He was hunched over the desk, shoulders so close to his ears that John cringed to think of the knots that would probably become a permanent fixture if he kept it up. His hair was wild, eyes drooping, and he was packing some serious bags under those puppies. He looked simultaneously like he had just woken up, and also like he’d been up for days. That couldn’t be healthy.

‘Lorne,’ he greeted quietly, but there was no mistaking the steel in his voice.

Watching his 2IC was like waiting for a lagging laptop, or a dial-up Internet connection – something he had become all too familiar with in Antarctica. Lorne took a long time to focus, eyes turned upward blearily, and John wasn’t sure if he could even _see_ the pages he was supposed to be filling in, for God’s sake. That was an unsettling thought.

‘Colonel,’ Lorne replied – more like slurred, really – and then continued, ‘What’s up?’

‘Sleep,’ John mocked. ‘You know, that thing where you lay down and _don’t do paperwork_?’

‘Can’t,’ he denied in an instant, shaking his head lethargically.

John snorted, moving forward. He could understand where Lorne was coming from – John himself had just returned from a mission at 1800, and while he had been tired, his brain refused to even _think_ about sleep, let alone actually do it. So he’d been doing paperwork. Unfortunately for Lorne, John knew exactly why he was sitting here at this time in the morning, though. Lorne just wanted to get paperwork done. The bastard.

‘Yes you can,’ he told the man, grabbing his arm and forcibly dragging him out of the office.

Lorne’s protestations were weak and sparse, mostly murmured to himself in a manner that bordered on delirious, but he didn’t bother trying to fight back. Physically, John may have looked lean; however, no one was arguing with the strength he secretly packed. Lorne knew this, too. His protests were barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of their combat boots on the floor of the halls as they walked.

When they arrived at Lorne’s door, Atlantis obligingly slid it open and let them in. John didn’t even enter the room, instead shoving his 2IC inside and instantly telling Atlantis to lock the door. Yes, Atlantis loved Lorne, but she loved John more. He knew she could sense there was something wrong with Lorne, trusted she’d keep him in until morning.

‘Nighty, night, Lorne,’ he said through the door, and turned down the hall again.

Muffled banging and a quiet ‘Sheppard, wait!’ followed him, stopping him in his tracks. He let out a sigh and called back, ‘ _What_ , Lorne?’

‘I _really_ can’t sleep, sir. I just –‘

‘I’ll be back,’ Sheppard reassured him, and strolled through the open door to his room, only a few paces away, grabbing his guitar, capo and pick.

John settled beside Lorne’s door, back against the cool walls of Atlantis, clamped the capo down on the third fret, and took a deep breath.

In front of him his legs sprawled out against the ground, and he kicked his boots off. It almost felt like he was shedding the weight of the day – taking off the cloak of “Colonel Sheppard” and just becoming “John”. The guitar in his hands was heavy, a comforting pressure against his palms, his fingers, as they found the familiar shape of A minor and he strummed with the other.

There was something about playing the guitar that soothed him, grounded him, especially on the days that it seemed like nothing could go right. In his anger, he belted out _Sunday Bloody Sunday,_ and when he was happy, it was _Brown Eyed Girl_. When everything was overwhelming, he consoled himself with _Hurt_. He’d been playing since he turned twenty, when he’d been bored and a little restless, not entirely comfortable in his own skin. Playing guitar was like musical mathematics, for John. It had just clicked from the first instant and sort of stuck.

But then – then he picked a song that was one of his favorites.

His fingers made the motions of A minor, C, G, and E major without any prompting, his right hand strumming in time. He took a deep breath, then began.

‘ _I’m really close tonight, and I feel like I’m moving inside her… lying in the dark, I think that I’m beginning to know her… let it go… I’ll be there when you call…_ ’

The F chord rang out into the empty hallway, and he kept singing;

‘ _And whenever I fall at your feet… won’t you let your tears rain down on me? And whenever I touch your slow turning pain…_ ’

He could see Teyla’s door sliding open, revealing the woman herself sitting serenely on a pillow, legs crossed and shoulders relaxed, just inside the door. Her hair was down, flowing loosely around her neck, and her eyes were closed, a faint smile on her face. She was swaying slightly in time to the music.

‘ _You’re hiding from me now, I can feel it in the way that you’re talking… The words don’t sound right, and I hear them all moving inside you… go, I’ll be waiting when you call…_ ’

There was a shuffling coming from the room behind John, and he was certain that Lorne had actually put his head on a pillow, or at least he would soon… hopefully.

‘ _And whenever I fall at your feet… won’t you let your tears rain down on me? And whenever I touch your slow turning pain…_ ’

Ronon’s door was open slightly now, just a small crack, but he could still see the giant shadow of him leaning against the doorframe, listening with the intensity that John knew he always possessed. It was an intensity he saw every day.

‘ _The finger of blame has turned upon itself, and I’m more than willing to offer myself. If you want my presence or need my help, who knows what that might be…_ ’

The night guard lingered at the end of the hallway, not moving on, just listening to the music, and it had probably been a long time since he’d heard any form of live music, let alone the warm tones of an acoustic guitar.

‘ _And whenever I fall at your feet… won’t you let your tears rain down on me? Whenever I fall… whenever I fall…_ ’

John let the last C drift off, the strings’ vibration finally coming to a stop, picked himself up off of the ground, and returned to his room, laying his head down at twenty past midnight.

He relaxed into a deep sleep with the warm hum of Atlantis’ satisfaction buzzing through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem was, John thought as he observed the man puttering, that the guy had been running on empty lately, so exhausted that he couldn’t even solve this simple coding conundrum. It wasn’t a smear on any of Radek’s abilities – rather, it implied, if anything, that Zelenka desperately needed a break to do that important thing human bodies required. The bags under his eyes practically begged for a good night’s sleep. 
> 
> John took pity, but instead of solving Radek’s dilemma, he went for the distraction instead. ‘Radek,’ he called. ‘Can I ask you something?’
> 
> The question broke Zelenka out of his mad Czech-murmuring stupor. ‘Sure?’ he answered, more of a question than a go-ahead. John went on anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some more Radek! (I love him)
> 
> Just a little about what I think Radek's backstory might have been.

Sitting on his table in the lab, John watched Zelenka putter around – yes, that most certainly was the perfect word for what he was currently doing – attempting to reconcile the functionality of an ancient machine with the seemingly endless lines of code streaming across the screens. Various displays surrounded him, all in varying degrees of magnification (which, now that John thought about it, didn’t actually make sense, considering that Zelenka always wore glasses) and occasionally in different colours. Some displays oscillated between the progress bar of a simulation Rodney had begun earlier that day and some coding, Zelenka growling to himself in Czech every time the screen changed midway through his code reading.

John thought that maybe he should step in and point out that the strange amount of encryption on the dry-cleaning device (yes, that was precisely its purpose) probably only meant that the guy who’d owned it really wanted to keep his kinky porn under wraps, but honestly, it was funny watching Rodney and Zelenka argue the exact same point at each other and still fail to come to an agreement. Amusingly enough, they both thought the dry-cleaner was a chameleon device, shaped that way to hide some sort of invaluable information that would change the fate of Atlantis _blah, blah, blah_. Yes, the Ancients certainly had been paranoid. No, they didn’t conceal the secrets of an entire race in a dry-cleaning device. It was pretty simple.

Then again, maybe John’s bias had something to do with the fact that he’d broken the code a half hour ago, spotting the complex mathematical pattern behind it. He figured if a dry-cleaning thingy really did house the secrets of Atlantis, they’d have better security.

Zelenka continued to mutter strangely to himself in Czech, pulling intermittently at his hair, proving John’s Wild Hair Theory completely accurate. The little scientist did it so often that he constantly looked like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket, hair wild and standing on end. Although, now that he thought about it, John could not see Zelenka in any other way – he wouldn’t be ‘Radek’ without the crazy hair. It was just one reason why he liked him. John understood unruly hair.

The problem was, John thought as he observed the man puttering, that the guy had been running on empty lately, so exhausted that he couldn’t even solve this simple coding conundrum. It wasn’t a smear on any of Radek’s abilities – rather, it implied, if anything, that Zelenka desperately needed a break to do that important thing human bodies required. The bags under his eyes practically begged for a good night’s sleep.

John took pity, but instead of solving Radek’s dilemma, he went for the distraction instead. ‘Radek,’ he called. ‘Can I ask you something?’

The question broke Zelenka out of his mad Czech-murmuring stupor. ‘Sure?’ he answered, more of a question than a go-ahead. John went on anyway.

‘Have you ever known someone who just doesn’t stop? I mean, I tell this guy to sleep; he goes somewhere else and continues working. I tell him to take a break; he just laughs in my face and tells me I need him to live. He’s going to work himself into an early grave and I refuse to be held liable in the inevitable court martial.’

Pulling them off of his face, Zelenka’s glasses were in his hands, and he rubbed at them absently, squinting at Sheppard. ‘It is Major Lorne you are talking about, correct?’

‘Yup. The bastard.’

‘I thought you fixed that.’

‘So did I!’ John exclaimed. In a moment of freakish clarity, he was very much aware of the fact that he was essentially gossiping like a teenage schoolgirl – complete with exclamations of outrage – and it was not the proudest moment of his life. After the horror passed, John shrugged it off. So he was being a girl for a minute? He was achieving two goals: distract Radek; solve Lorne problem. Functionality would have to be enough for now. He continued, ‘I swear, Lorne is allergic to his room.’

Zelenka settled his glasses back on his nose and came closer. ‘Maybe he is just lonely.’

‘What?’

‘Major Lorne is not in a relationship, yes? So maybe he cannot sleep without another beside him.’

John’s eyebrows threatened to breach the integrity of his hairline. ‘Without another?’ he repeated incredulously.

Zelenka’s glare silenced him. ‘Yes, without another,’ the physicist told him irritably. It is not very strange. When I was a child the fighting in the streets meant that the city wasn’t safe. My mother and my four brothers shared a bedroom.’ His voice faltered for a second before he continued, an odd catch in his voice. ‘We did not have much money. My father enlisted and we were alone, in our own sort of way. Our relatives were living in the area most affected by the fighting. So we lived in a little house off a busy street. It only had three rooms, and one of them was the bathroom.’

John watched as he came closer physically, but his eyes were distant; probably back in the three-room house off a busy street in Czechoslovakia with a mother and four brothers trying not to kill each other, missing a father who had left them basically defenseless. There was an intensity about him that had been absent a moment ago – a presence; as if what John now knew about his upbringing made him somehow more respectable. Radek was a man who did not demand respect, like Rodney, but earned it instead. Through his genius and his vibrancy Radek earned the admiration of those that knew him, rather than the begrudging fearful respect the ‘minions’ afforded Rodney. Maybe it was the way that he seemed willing to listen to anyone about anything; John had the feeling that maybe he was doing for others what no one had done for him. But even as the story of Radek’s childhood unfolded, John did not feel pity for him – he had survived, and done very well for himself – merely an increase in respect, a level of understanding that he hadn’t achieved before. It suddenly seemed very important not to interrupt Radek, who never seemed sad that people didn’t stop to listen to him.

‘We could not afford heating,’ Radek continued softly, ‘even though we only had three rooms to heat, we still wished for warmth in our home. The tiles in the bathroom always made it cold in there, and mother didn’t like having all of us in the kitchen, so we had to stay in the bedroom. The winters were always very cold, and seemed to get colder every year. We would spend the coldest days cooped up inside, huddled together on the bed. On the worst days we would just nap through the day. I remember that it always seemed uncomfortable, that there always seemed to be an elbow in my ribs and a knee in my stomach, but those were the times that we all felt safe…’ Zelenka ran a hand down his face, seemingly emerging from his reverie. ‘We got so used to it,’ he said, ‘that sleeping apart was lonely, and we were aware that there were others alone in the same room. It was not good to be alone, to be left wanting. Maybe Major Lorne feels this also.’

Zelenka was looking up at him so seriously; the hint of concern in his eyes giving him away instantly, although the sadness lurked there too. John suspected that the man peering up at him over the rim of his glasses felt the emptiness keenly, too. He thought that maybe Zelenka always would, despite having his own sort of family now.

John nodded to the physicist, thinking rapidly. The theory was definitely plausible – he’d have to think about how to approach Lorne about it after his 2IC returned from offworld. Usually he would cringe at the thought of asking about the love-life of a soldier under his command, but, _hey_ , he thought; at least he and Lorne were friends, in any case. And if it was creepy, he could just tell the truth and say that Lorne’s performance as a soldier and officer was definitely flagging.

Words rose on the tip of his tongue – ‘After living with that many people, you must always be lonely’ – but he pushed the observation down, smothering it for the time being. Zelenka did not deserve any joking remarks about such a personal issue, and he certainly did not need to become the centre of attention, because, to Radek, this was all about Lorne.

‘Lunch time, doc?’ was what came out. John shrugged at himself and went along with it. A topic change was probably the way to go.

Radek smiled at him as they walked out of the lab, something in his expression conveying his gratitude for the acceptance he wordlessly received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Catch y'all tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Any IDC?’ she asked ‘Gate-tech-Chuck.
> 
> ‘No, ma’am.’
> 
> The shield flickered over the surface of the ‘Gate, its yellow-green tinge the only thing revealing its existence. In front of the device a circle of Marines had set up, complete with P90s and a turret-mounted machine gun. The silence stretched, tense, as everyone waited.
> 
> ‘It’s Major Lorne’s IDC,’ Chuck said, fingers above the shield release mechanism.
> 
> ‘Lower the shield.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta catch up on a couple of days' worth of chapters so here we go!

T-minus two hours until Lorne’s check-in, John was in Carter’s office, regaling her with all the details of their latest dumb-ass marine intake, when the ‘Gate lit up.

Carter trailed him out of her office, whipping out orders already, preparing the group that would be guarding the ‘Gate against alien incursion. After the few… incidents (John privately thought about them more as a series of kerfuffles) in which Atlantis had been at serious risk, it was only logical to increase security measures around the ‘Gate. Carter had a great many ideas on how to improve security, and from any other commanding officer John would have been seriously peeved, but Carter was a genius in her own right, so he didn’t feel too intimidated. Anything that Carter did was never an insult to Sheppard – rather, it was just her own thoughts on some extra additions. After everything the Atlantis Expedition had been through, it was always _prudent_ to be more cautious. He actually found himself inadvertently liking Colonel Carter.

She had this enthusiasm about science, and everything to do with the ‘Gate, that made her exciting to be around – that and the fact that she’d survived a long time on SG-1. She was tough-as-nails and a serious contender to any men arrogant enough to believe that women were inferior. He suspected that, if she had any less restraint, those dumbasses would end up without their precious ‘man-parts’ in the end.

Even now, as she looked over to the Pegasus Stargate, he could see that light in her eyes, that excitement that seemed inexhaustible and always hung about her like a strange radiance. As the lights flashed and the event horizon stabilized, he knew Carter would never really lose her enthusiasm for the ‘Gate. He cringed to think of the fight she’d have when the Air Force wanted her to retire.

‘Any IDC?’ she asked ‘Gate-tech-Chuck.

‘No, ma’am.’

The shield flickered over the surface of the ‘Gate, its yellow-green tinge the only thing revealing its existence. In front of the device a circle of Marines had set up, complete with P90s and a turret-mounted machine gun. The silence stretched, tense, as everyone waited.

‘It’s Major Lorne’s IDC,’ Chuck said, fingers above the shield release mechanism.

‘Lower the shield.’

The force field powered down; not a second after, Lorne and his team poured out of the ‘Gate, puffed out and weary. John followed Carter downstairs, coming closer to see the four of them, covered in twigs, leaves, and some sort of tiny yellow flower. Parrish was already babbling rapidly to Carter, holding a plastic bag and carefully placing the flowers and twigs in them, turning to pluck them off of Lorne when he had cleaned himself.

Lorne was infinitely muddier, and thus, has become was a smorgasbord of floral offerings. He didn’t even bother batting Parrish away as John approached, just moved his arms tiredly when told and tolerated it with a fond expression.

‘I like the uniform modification,’ John commented casually, coming to a stop.

He smiled, but it seemed to take a lot of effort. ‘I thought it should have a more natural look,’ Lorne said. ‘And it helped hide me from the crazy natives.’

‘He slipped in the mud,’ Parrish supplied. ‘But those natives really were crazy.’

‘I’m fine,’ Lorne insisted, anticipating John’s next question.

‘Something’s wrong with his ankle,’ Parrish told them, unashamed. His attention was still consumed by plucking the floral samples off of his team leader.

John grimaced, disregarding Lorne’s protests and tapping his radio. ‘Medical Team to the ‘Gate Room.’

‘I hate you,’ Lorne grumbled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making his way over, John slipped through the curtains hanging around bed six. Inside, Lorne was fast asleep, wearing the maroon scrubs that were infinitely better than any hospital gown, his left leg propped up on a couple of pillows. Someone had draped a blanket over him, if the way it was carefully positioned around his foot was any indication. It was almost as if his ankle – which had swelled to twice its size and was an angry red – was laying in a nest, the waffle pattern cloth tucked expertly around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little quiet moment.

After finally freeing himself of paperwork – which had magically increased as soon as Lorne had come stumbling through the ‘Gate – John sat back at his desk, wishing he were younger. At least he’d finished while it was still daytime. But, glancing outside at the sunlit water, and then back to the clock reading 19:11, he thought that it wasn’t much of a consolation prize, considering the new planet had a longer daylight period.

Shoving the stack of completed paperwork aside, he stood up, switching the lamp off as he did. John made his way through Atlantis with a spring in his step, looking forward to the Team Movie Night before tomorrow’s mission. It wasn’t anything big – just another secondary contact mission to discuss an agricultural treaty. With the amount of new personnel showing up in Atlantis, they would need a lot more food, even if it was that weird fruit that had glowing iridescent stripes and that livestock meat that Major Connors said tasted like Crocodile. John grimaced at the thought.

He wondered what movie options he was going to present – he’d definitely throw _Back To The Future_ in there: Teyla and Ronon had never seen it, and McKay would have a fit when Ronon inevitably chose the film to annoy him. Then again, Ronon was just as likely to choose _Jaws_ for the sixtieth time; he had an unnatural love for that movie: probably stemmed from some weird kind of warrior-respect thing about it. Plus, Sateda, as awesome as it apparently had been, didn’t have anything that could be considered an ‘ocean’. They had some pretty strange fish, but they had never gotten big, considering that rivers were a _thing_ in the Satedan landscape. Ronon had a lot of respect for the shark in _Jaws_.

Even as he gave a mental headshake, John rounded the corner, the Infirmary in sight. As always, the large doors were open, the space inside surprisingly inviting, considering its purpose (and how much John himself hated being _in_ the Infirmary), well-lit and mostly empty. Jenifer Keller may have been young and admittedly naïve, but she ran a tight ship, managing to cut a threatening figure despite her stature. At times, John’s opinion of Keller wildly oscillated between likening her to a puppy and wishing she would stop being such a hard-ass. Maybe that was the reason he liked her. Honestly, Carson had chosen the best successor. Plus, she really had played around in his insides – it was probably more than prudent to like her…

Speaking of – Keller waved hello as he strolled through the doors, a friendly smile on her face. Okay, she was in puppy-mode right now; he had a go.

‘Hey, Doc,’ he greeted.

‘Hello Colonel Sheppard,’ she replied, ever the formalist. ‘Come to see Major Lorne?’

‘Yup. What’s the verdict?’

‘It wasn’t a break, which is lucky,’ she said. 

John’s eyebrow rose. ‘I’m sensing a _but_ here.’

Keller’s grin was quick, both in its appearance and in its vanishing. ‘He did manage to do some ligament damage, so he’ll be off his feet for a while. But with some splinting, he’ll make a full recovery in a few weeks.’

‘Thanks, Doc.’

A knowing glint in her eye, she told him, ‘He’s in bed six,’ before returning to her research station.

Making his way over, John slipped through the curtains hanging around bed six. Inside, Lorne was fast asleep, wearing the maroon scrubs that were infinitely better than any hospital gown, his left leg propped up on a couple of pillows. Someone had draped a blanket over him, if the way it was carefully positioned around his foot was any indication. It was almost as if his ankle – which had swelled to twice its size and was an angry red – was laying in a nest, the waffle pattern cloth tucked expertly around it.

The bags under his eyes seemed to have magically become darker, and in sleep he appeared even more exhausted than when he’d been swaying on his own goddamn feet. It was ironic that he could even sleep properly – more likely the only reason he was out so early was the amount of drugs Keller undoubtedly had him on. At least he could enjoy their effects without concern: it wasn’t like he’d be required for a while. Being on stand-down would be good for Lorne. Hopefully he would be forced to actually take care of himself for a change.

When he glanced to the right, John wasn’t sure why he was surprised to find David Parrish sitting at Lorne’s bedside. As much as he would be scorned for dobbing Lorne in, it was obvious that the only reason Parrish had done so was because he had been concerned. Working in a team like that; so close, to an almost intimate extent, forged a bond that ran thicker than blood. Sheppard, after his giant fuck-up in Afghanistan, had thought he would never be a part of a team. He loved flying – he really did – it was what he’d been born to do. When he flew, his soul was both soaring with him, and utterly at peace. But the Universe (which one, he wasn’t sure), infinitely full of surprises, had delivered him a million second chances: for the first time in his life, he had three true friends, people that he would trust with so much more than his life. Parrish was a part of a team like that – he would never have lain down and let his team leader, his friend, lie to his detriment.

Parrish was slumped in the chair, reading the latest issue of the American Journal of Botany, when John sort of just… barged in. If he was surprised, it didn’t show, because he merely took note of the page number and closed the book with care, placing it to the side and making sure the cover was unbent. ‘Colonel Sheppard,’ he greeted, and the tired smile on his face served to remind John that he’d just returned from a pretty crazy mission.

John came closer, hands in his pockets. ‘Hi, Parrish. How’s the team?’

This time the smile was a little more energetic. ‘Everyone’s fine. Those natives were actually more funny than they were dangerous.’

‘Sounds familiar.’

Definitely more of a grin this time. ‘Anything I can do for you?’ he asked, moving to stand.

He waved the man back down. ‘Nah,’ John drawled. ‘Just wanted to check in.’

Parrish gestured to his team leader. ‘He’s an idiot, but physically, he’ll be fine.’

‘Good to know,’ John remarked, nodding as if it were obvious.

They were quiet for a long moment, attention fixed on Lorne’s form, when Parrish spoke up once more.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘Evan talks about you sometimes.’

‘Nothing bad, I hope?’

‘The way he talks about you is different than everyone else. I mean, Evan has friends; he’s always been a likeable guy. But we’re his team – it’s not the same. So, I guess I just… I wanted to thank you. You’ve been a real friend to Evan, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am that he’s finally connected with someone.’

The way Parrish said it… there was nothing joking about it – the earnestness shone out of his eyes as brightly as the gratitude. He really was thankful to John, just for having a friendship with Lorne, and wasn’t that strange to think about?

But then, was it really? He guessed he didn’t find the thought as odd as he would have, once. In fact, there was something inherently good about having a friend who wasn’t a member of his team, a bond forged by something other than life-or-death experiences. He loved his team, there was no contest there, but it was also nice to entertain the idea of having a no-strings-attached, genuine _friend_. He wondered how long it had been since he himself had a friend like that. Chances were never.

For maybe the first time in his life, he had a real friend… He found that the idea of that friend being Evan Lorne didn’t actually bother him. And by the sounds of it, Lorne was in need of more friends. John hoped that maybe one day he could fit the bill as snugly as Parrish seemed to think he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stoppin' by!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘What the hell are you doing?’
> 
> Lorne looked up guiltily from the stack of paperwork in his lap. He’d obviously decided the couch was more comfortable than the desk chair, because he’d unceremoniously moved there. Strangely enough, the couch also happened to be a fixture unable to be seen from the hallway. It was only because John needed the newest batch of forms that he had gone into his 2IC’s office in the first place.
> 
> And he’d found this.
> 
> Rapidly, Lorne’s eyes flickered back and forth between John and the paper stack on his lap, obviously fishing for an excuse. Nothing was forthcoming. Instead, he shuffled awkwardly, taking a sheet from the top of the pile. He finally answered, ‘Paperwork?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for today, and now the fic is finally getting into it a little!

‘What the hell are you doing?’

Lorne looked up guiltily from the stack of paperwork in his lap. He’d obviously decided the couch was more comfortable than the desk chair, because he’d unceremoniously moved there. Strangely enough, the couch also happened to be a fixture unable to be seen from the hallway. It was only because John needed the newest batch of forms that he had gone into his 2IC’s office in the first place.

And he’d found this.

Rapidly, Lorne’s eyes flickered back and forth between John and the paper stack on his lap, obviously fishing for an excuse. Nothing was forthcoming. Instead, he shuffled awkwardly, taking a sheet from the top of the pile. He finally answered, ‘Paperwork?’

That answer wasn’t even in statement territory: it was definitely a question. _Busted_ , John’s mind supplied for him. Really, it was an accurate thought. Lorne was peering up at him as if he had been caught with his pants down in front of the girls’ classroom and been sent to the principle’s office. Just like any boy wouldn’t be, Lorne was not sorry he’d done it, but he was definitely sorry he’d been _caught_. It was ironic, if John thought about it; Lorne was the mischievous kid increasingly often of late, but not necessarily for bad reasons. Yes, he had gone against John’s express – and _very_ clearly articulated – wishes… Ultimately, though, Lorne wasn’t doing it to fuck with him: Lorne was going against his wishes because he seemed to reason its necessity. This in particular told John a huge amount about the way his 2IC both worked and rested, but also the ways he convinced himself it was a good thing. John was starting to think he’d have to step in to break Lorne’s sleeping habits – more like lack of them. (That was, of course, more than he’d already been doing.) Apparently, it was time to crack out the big guns.

‘That wasn’t even a statement,’ he commented bluntly. ‘Look, I know you’re back on semi-active duty, but I’m pretty sure that Keller did not O-KAY you to spend late nights in your office.’

Lorne chewed his lip before replying. ‘Sir, things have been busier lately. I just wanted to help – it’s not fair that you have to do all my paperwork while I lay around and do nothing.’

‘Sometimes it gets busy around here, Lorne. You can’t run yourself into the goddamn ground every time the workload gets heavier.’

‘It’s still not fair to –‘

John cut him off with a gesture. ‘I only came in here to get tomorrow’s forms. I’ve already finished everything for today. Even your stuff.’

Finally, that shut Lorne up. His eyes were wide – John would go so far as to say he was _astonished_ , which sounded vaguely overdramatized, but whatever – and he had this expression, a tightness around the corner of his eyes and a movement of his cheeks, that broadcast his skepticism loud and clear.

John raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. ‘I’m actually very quick with paperwork. That, and the fact that you can barely even see the lines you’re making on the page. Christ,’ he swore, running a hand through his already unruly hair in frustration. ‘I thought I told you to stop. I know you’re trying to help, but your performance is suffering, Major. Stop taking things on.’

Something in Lorne’s eyes said he’d argue. Sure enough, a few moments later: ‘Sir, I’m just trying –‘

‘I don’t care,’ John snapped, voice hard as stone. ‘Stop.’

Silence fell in the office, and John could see his 2IC’s desire to stand and talk face-to-face, but he was stuck sitting on the couch. It probably didn’t help that the paperwork he’d been so desperate to do was now providing inconvenient service as a Lorne-weight. The tension was so thick John could swim in it, hovering about like stagnant water in prime mosquito-gathering condition. Even as he caught a glimpse out of the window – it was getting dark, signaling the deceptive lateness of the evening – he lamented the difficulty in prompting Lorne to obey his orders. On any other matter, he would have obeyed instantly, bordering on disturbingly quick, and definitely disgusting eager. But now, the one time John genuinely wished Lorne would actually obey his orders, was the one time that it didn’t seem to have any bearing. Through it all, John didn’t really get stubbornness from Lorne as much as everything else. He really was not being stubborn: he probably thought this was what the perfect soldier did. Perhaps that was the saddest part about the entire issue.

Rubbing a hand over his face and letting out a sigh, the tension in the room dissipated. It was still there, to some degree, but it was as if the energy build-up had been released, electrons dispersing harmlessly to the edge of the room.

He braved the opportunity to speak. ‘I appreciate the notion… but I don’t want you to be what you think is the perfect soldier, Lorne.’

Lorne’s eyes were clear when they focused on John’s, blue completely unclouded by the petulance that had been hanging around with the lack of sleep. He was assessing John carefully, maybe wondering how he’d known the reason behind his persistence. Perhaps he just thought John had been replaced by Replicators. It didn’t really matter. All he knew was that he had to get his point across, and it suddenly seemed imperative that he tread lightly about it.

‘It doesn’t matter if you finish paperwork on time. It matters even less when it’s a busy period, because you are so much more important than paperwork.’ John turned on Lorne, gestures and gaze ratcheting up in intensity. ‘I trust you to help run this base, to keep things in order; to make sure that everything goes smoothly. You already do more to help than you know. But now, when you’ve only had a couple of hours’ sleep? You’re making mistakes; clouding your own judgment. I can’t trust your decisions when you refuse to look out for yourself…’

Making his way over to the other chair, John sat his ass down wearily, slouching back. ‘It’s not just that,’ he admitted slowly. ‘You’re my friend, dammit. I’m concerned for your well-being. This can’t be healthy, you know? And you expect me to just sit here and take it while you – my _friend_ – do things for me? I only feel guilty about this, Lorne; nothing else.’

Lorne’s face was turned downward, his shoulders hunched in and the paperwork still doing decent work as a Lorne-weight. He appeared to be deliberating something, turning it over in his mind. John left him to it, satisfied that he had said his piece. To top it all off, he hadn’t lied about a single thing, either. Lorne really was his friend, and he really did hate having to watch from the bench, trying desperately to convince his coach that he was good to help in the field and being fervently ignored.

‘I didn’t realize,’ the other man said eventually, the words slow and experimental in his mouth. ‘You are a friend, and I’ve done nothing but ignore your advice… I’m sorry, Sheppard. I really didn’t think…’

John smiled, happy as pie that they were finally progressing along, at least a little. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he reassured. ‘But be sure to have some free time, all right? Hopefully you’ll spend the beginning of it napping, but the rest is up to you.’

‘Okay,’ he agreed, and this time John could see the sincerity in his eyes.

Pushing himself up out of his seat, John’s cheerful ‘Great!’ brought him to the door, ready to go get some quality sleep himself. Turning back, he smirked when he saw Lorne still stuck under his load of paperwork.

Laughter in his tired eyes, Lorne demanded, ‘A little help?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the day! Catch you tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, stay tuned - there's 26 more chapters!
> 
> Title is from the song A Case for Shame by Moby and Cold Specks. (Still love that song, ngl)


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